


Faustian

by Flynn_Voltage_Taggart



Series: Gordon Freeman Malevolent Moments [1]
Category: Half-Life
Genre: Canon typical mentions of violence, hl1 canon but a bit to the left, morally skewed Gordon Freeman, not describing 13 minutes of gameplay to you at the end, you want your male power fantasy? go fetch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29074788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flynn_Voltage_Taggart/pseuds/Flynn_Voltage_Taggart
Summary: Faustian: relating to or resembling Faust, a German astronomer and necromancer reputed to have sold his soul to the DevilDo you ever look at Gordon Freeman and wonder what's going on inside his head? It's not pretty.
Series: Gordon Freeman Malevolent Moments [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136168
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Faustian

**Author's Note:**

> Huge shoutout to poisonheadcrabsalesman for pitching this idea and for a few other users for adding to the idea pool.
> 
> Oh, also boomslangs are a very neat type of large venomous snake which you may need for later reference.

Most of his chattering "coworkers" thought when Doctor Gordon Freeman had arrived late for his shift at the Black Mesa Research facility that it was because he had been negligent enough to sleep in on the big day of his penultimate test. It was the most miserable attempt at an assault on his character, not that the opinions of people stuck in government research positions in a one pony town with a panoramic view of dirt not even considered good enough to test nuclear weaponry on should matter. It just irked him that it was the exact opposite of the truth.

Doctor Freeman had in fact woken up in the early glitter of the New Mexico sunrise from what most people would consider a nightmare. The eerie vision of the endless expanse of time and space flowing in an endless tunnel around him as a figure oozing classical authority beckoned him further into the abyss should have been outputting, yet when he awoke, there was the slightest twinge of a smile on his tired features. He supposed he was different that way. However, he was quick to mentally amend that he was not better than everyone else. He was put together enough to not be completely diluted by well-earned arrogance. He knew well enough that he lacked some prerequisite wealth, charisma, and status to not have to resort to a plan like what he had in mind today. He knew well-enough that he could not attain the power that ethereal afterimage from his dreams held so clearly with any earthly means.

He shouldn't have been so detached in his description of that dream creature. Doctor Freeman was a scientist first and foremost, and unlike the dull mumble of aliens from his alleged peers founded on nothing but speculation, he preferred his notions founded by empirical observations. That particular task proved very trying as no amount of Boolean phrases yielded much in databases for magical middle-aged men in business attire, at least not results that were pertinent to his primary objective. It took a lot of refining and a lot of filtering out biblical nonsense about the many forms of temptation (Honestly, if he could conjure up any power fantast, it would have to better than business casual.) before he honed in on a particular idea, a rather potent idea. In another late night of miserable doom scrolling through an eyestrain inducing personal blog, he found mention of a Tuatha Dé Danann, a race of supernatural beings who's role as gods or faes now seemed contested from pre-Christian Gaelic Ireland who were the kin of goddess Danu and served a role in passage tombs, portals to the otherworld. It was the closest thing to an answer he had gotten in his mouth of fitful sleep and searching. He was quick to latch on to it. Being personally contacted by the voice of a god would certainly add a bit of punch to his resume if nothing else.

This specific deviation on the creature unfortunately had no know etymological or taxonomic means of classification, so he stuck with the common name that best suited the creature. He looked like a G-Man, a government man, and that is what stuck. He had given name to the abyss. He only hoped it could do a bit more than return the favor. 

But, he supposed he did not need to be too specific in his recollections, especially not if they were just for his own glorious internal monologue. Even if he had not been jolted awake by the baseline frustration of having that bit of cosmic power dangled right out of his grasp, he would have been up shortly anyway. He had a very specific plan, and he would not spoil it with a cat nap on his lumpy, standard-issue dorm mattress. 

The plan stretched as far back as a rather unsavory encounter in middle school, but it could be boiled down to the simple chain of events here and now. Dwelling on the past served no practical purpose. Those objectives, passed or failed, were behind him. They only served to be brought to light when a fire of frustration needed to be stoked. All that there was truly left for him was the endless string of tasks that culminated in the power he would amass starting here.

An offhand observer might make Doctor Freeman out to be some sort of doomsday prepper.

Again, the continual commitment of those around him to purposefully make out his character as something with better intentions was getting almost hilarious in the logical leaps it allowed for.

Being a doomsday prepper would imply that he cared about the end of the world. What a silly thing to think about someone who was willing to blow the hunk of rock to bits if it was in his best interest.

That wasn't to say that was the end goal. It was just always a possibility when you got into bioeaponry, the field he would have taken much more of a shine to if it wasn't polluted with world governments who wanted to buy out his ingenuity and let it fester in military bases. 

It also wasn't to say that he hadn't taken some precautions that would serve him well if somebody else undermined his turncoat like work at Black Mesa. Most of it was enjoyable, preparing a few MREs here and there, hotwiring a Cadillac some dolt left in the company car lot to let the leather to bake outside, and of course the weapons training. The allure of cold metal that so easily exercised total control over a room had always held a glimmer of appeal. He was more than happy he had "discharged" the facility of one of its simpler rifles stocked inside one of those emergency cabinets. It was such a shame though that he never got to show off that skill, if only to shut up those meat headed guards that flocked around that Barney Calhoun fellow who had decided to permanently make himself Gordon's problem. He supposed whatever process of subjugation they went through under the highest bidder for whatever he engineered would have to be a consolation prize. 

That was the start of the plan he was on now. There was the hint of recognition in those green eyes that looked tired even then in the back of a simple organic chemistry class. There was power within even the tiniest of lifeforms, power that he could exert on to others if given the proper tools and a lab environment devoid of the status quo of "ethics" and "guiding moral codes" and whatever buzzword stuck into their job listings that their backbones were weaker than a cream puff when it came to doing real science. He wanted nothing more than to tinker with a few pieces of organic matter to stretch them to their lethal and ghastly extremes. It shouldn't be so hard, but yet, there he was in grad school, bullshitting through a thesis. Einstein-Podolsky-Rosen Entanglement just to get into a proper research facility to "subsidize" his little side project. With such a grandiose paper, he was almost certain he could have gotten in anywhere with enough patience. Black Mesa just so happened to be the facility that had the most appropriate technology to "borrow" for a few personal experiments. More precisely, their facility held Xen crystal samples, an unknown source. 

With that crystal, he would have access to a hint of a source of completely alien life. 

With that crystal, he would have the proper microorganisms in his private collection alongside a key element of his earlier teleportation theories for technology that could control the world....or put a stop to its dull and endless ticking all together.

So, all he had to do was get his hands on it, the simplest element of this slog towards unquestionable power aside from actually landing this job which was the scientific equivalent of a glory post. 

It was an exercise in hiding in plain sight, of letting the guard of others go down so he could have a chance at getting his sample. All he had to do was loiter on facility long enough for someone else to fulfill his cart pushing position, something he was certain would go amiss without his input. While the scientist huddled around muttering about yet another failure of the anti-mass spectrometer in the halls and break room or consoled a scientist who was minorly electrocuted by not properly grounding the outside equipment, he could swoop in and pocket a sample in the chaos that would be written off as collateral damage of the failed test. It wasn't exactly like anyone would stop him to chat. He could have the ultimate trick card in the illusive game of fate in his dorm before lunch. 

Just as planned, after his normal morning routine of 3 handfuls of cereal and a quick and efficient placement of his uniform, he made his way off to a subsection of the research facility that would make for a perfect defense if one of the guards was still stubborn enough to expect him to answer, the Hazardous Environment Suit Training Course. His only regret was the minute behind his envisioned schedule having to scout out a rubber band to at least pretend he was keep his mullet up according to lab safety protocols even if the haircut was solely based on surface area to pick up foreign bacteria if he had to fall back on using his portals to obtain the needed samples.

Just as planned, as he heard the tram rattle on outside, he continued the dumb little squats and rolls under the meaningless infrastructure. The added weight if the HEV suit meant nothing to him now. All this was effectively doing was ensuring the need for an early hip replacement... if he made it long enough to worry about joint deterioration, but it gave him someplace to be.

Just as planned, he left the Hazardous Environment Suit Training Course, already thirty minutes behind schedule and already wishing he had stayed in bed with the new ache in his back.

And just as planned, he dragged his metal encased feet across the rough concrete pathways to the yellow line indicating where the tram docked.

The tram had finally made its wobbly stop back here at this platform forty five minutes after an on-time drop-off. He had to hand it to the automated system. The driving was subpar at best, but he knew exactly when his motion sick coworkers would be deposited. 

As the doors hissed open and filled the quiet ambience of the empty corridor with chatter about employment referrals and radiation test, Doctor Freeman's stomach dropped.

He was not a man of intuition. Intuition spit in the face of science. Still, something was clearly off. 

It felt cold. 

No, he felt cold.

No, that wasn't quite right either. It was if there was a cold presence digging its icy fingers into his central nervous system. 

It couldn't be that G-Man, could it?

Could this experiment have finally caught his attention? Was that a good sign or a cataclysmic one?

Could he turn back now? 

Did he really want to?

He didn't have an excuse to call off sick since he had clocked into the training course. He had no choice but to feign loosing track of time. He had backed himself into a corner, although that was probably for the best. Eliminating the human error of cowardice facing a precipice of progress was the smartest thing he could have done given the circumstances.

So, there he went, the thud of heavy HEV boots across the late tram's threshold noting the perfect start of a seemingly infallible plan. 

The tram car continued on slowly with the mundane passing of faceless structures and nameless people passing by. It was so easy to drift off into his thoughts, half of them gut-wrenchingly anxious and the other oddly soothed all regarding the speculative presence of someone worthy of his respect. So caught up in these daydreams of universal domination, he barely recognized that proud, waving figure with a helmet obscuring most of his face as Barney Calhoun.

Barney. Barney. Barney. Sweet, innocent, pathetic Barney who could not take a hint if it hit him right on that oversized, pasty forehead. He would make an excellent character witness if things did not go quite his way. He could see it now, what that poor, foolhardy guard would say when confronted by some upper government agent in a suit worth more than a week's pay here. They would ask him about when he last saw Gordon, and with that unassuming lilt to his voice, he'd tell that agent that he was on the late tram. The agent would ask him about what he looked like that day, and Barney would say something corny about how Doctor Freeman never really smiled but you just knew when he had a good feeling about something, how he must have been excited for the test and for his buddy getting the blue shift promotion. It was so fortunate that some people had no clue when they were being used. 

Other people were acutely aware of their place as tools in this universe. At least he could only presume the guard hunched over the keypad waiting on a rickety platform outside of the tram felt that way. It wasn't like that mattered. Security codes were low priority on the objective list running through Freeman's mind as he was finally granted access into the airlock. 

Finally, Doctor Freeman made it into Black Mesa proper.

And immediately, Doctor Freeman confronted by some overly eager scientist with glasses eating up half of his face yet doing nothing to conceal his bald spot who latched onto his shoulders like some sort of vicious boomslang.

Before he could brush the egg-headed hindrance off, he had already started in on parroting a message down from the depths of the lab no doubt, "Great Scotts. Gordon Freeman! You finally turned up. Black Mesa Security has been looking for you all morning. The other scientist are waiting for you down at the test chambers. It's rather urgent. Do hurry."

The audacity of it all.

What was this guy's name anyway? You would think somebody with the familiarity to shake you by the shoulders would have a name that came to mind, but he looked like every other washed-up sixty year old government pity hire with greys they had carried proudly since the age of 35 when they had their last original idea. Then again, he had made a point not to be too familiar with most hires. You could not accuse an employee who's name slipped from your memory and who's voice never hit your time. Plus, aside from Vance and Kleiner and maybe Cross, nobody even provided the leverage to make trying to force a conversation worthwhile. 

"Freeman, they need you in there right away. I am far too busy to escort you right," the scientist who looked more like a movie prop for some mad laboratory than anything else urged him yet again. 

Oh, this was not to plan at all. 

He gave the scientist a curt, appreciative nod. He was from thankful, but there was no need to cause a raucous when he was so close to the end goal. 

Getting into the lab was the next logical step. He could at least reevaluate his options if he faced things head on.

Passing the main gaggle of scientist huddle around the reception desk, he snapped loose the rubber band and shook loose the messy fringe of a mullet it poorly restrained.

A guard stationed at the front desk who had been working on rebooting a computer system whistled. 

He had to do a quick double take. It wasn't Barney. If it was Barney, it would have been at least a little bit funny he supposed. It wasn't really his fault they all looked the same with their uniforms on. It was unnerving to say the least. It at least made it easier to muster general disdain for the rent-a-guards as a collective rather than for each stupid, shitty thing they did individually.

He was thankful now as he navigated down the corridor abuzz with coworkers and colleagues discussing mundane events of their brief stints of leave outside of the facility or their dull theories that he still had his HEV suit on. Sure, it was getting him dirty looks because it was against standard operating procedures to wear the HEV suit from the training grounds or to wear the suit for this long. What a dumb reason to be upset. You would think these people who played with the constructs of physical reality would know how to have a bit more fun. Plus, it wasn't like it mattered which HEV suit he took or the minor bit of restrictive pressure on his vital organs. They all fit the same clunky way and made the same obnoxious thumps against the Black Mesa tile.

It was all just meaningless mazes and corridors, all color coded and with flimsy attempts at seeming secure, pure theatrics for those dumb enough to feel safe thousands of miles underground in the middle of the dessert where calling a hearse would be more efficient than calling an ambulance. 

The one thing of meaning he picked up on as doors and elevators and other petty barriers brought him closer to the test chamber was that the conversation was finally decent. It was finally about him, or specifically his test, how the outputs had been pushed, about how unstable the sample had been pushed, how this test was going to determine huge amounts about administrative funding. In that moment, he had power of the lives of so many. It certainly helped him keep up the pace.

Particularly, one scientist in a preliminary control station had prompted him again stating that, "They're waiting for you in the test chamber."

The way he buzzed those words test chamber....

He was just being silly now. Wishful thinking never got anyone anywhere of meaning. Clear and definite

Yet, he was almost angry at himself for not reaching out to shake his hand just in case it was his only shot at it.

He did not have much time to dwell on it for soon, his heavy boots were firmly tethering him to the floor of the test chamber. It was glorious. A huge pit of quaint orange metal siding with so many perfectly oiled and maintained interlocking parts looked over by a surrounding upper deck windows that made it seem like a theatre for the riveting performance between him and the demanding beast that was his beloved spectrometer. He could not have asked for much more, at least not within reason. 

"If you would be so kind as to start the proboscis," a voice of a scientist he could not put a name to either finally registered from overhead.

Instructions of course for equipment management.

Why else would they put the newbie down here if not to be potential cannon fodder for a particular finicky machine?

He really needed to find a physics position that did not have so much calisthenics if this test did not pan out.

Coming down the ladder that held the proboscis operating panel, he was almost transfixed by the second beam of the spectrometer. He had seen it in action before, but holding itself steady at 80% power, it danced and flickered in a way that rivaled the beauty of the space time abyss from his dreams. 

.....

There wasn't enough time to dwell on the natural, or rather unnatural in this case, beauty of the world.

The sample was waiting.

All he had to was push the cart and get his shift done, so he could plot a better way to swindle his company out of the ingredients for weapons of mass destruction later. Easy as pie, right?

There was that feeling of ice water being poured right down his back again as he inched towards the spectrometer. Something awful was going to happen. Something awful was happening, and he was going to be the catalyst. He couldn't stop his momentum towards the beam, and he didn't want to. Entropy, the decline into disorder, was the natural order of things, and the feeling that he was to be that conduit of chaos was the best he had felt in years.

There was a brilliant flash of light and then a too long pause of darkness as his vision filtered in and out. There was pressure in the back of his eyes and in the base of his skull. Something was different. The whole room was different. There was hissing from somewhere and screams too without any discernable source under the flickering bolts of lights the color of toxic ooze occasionally illuminating the deep chamber. Something about the world had fundamentally change, and he was basking in the epicenter.

He should have been scared. He should have been scared for his life knowing the consequences of letting a fidgety doctor alter his equipment, but as the brilliant lightshow of sickly greens played out in all directions, he was smiling. He guessed he was different that way.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you felt something about our protag here. Your feedback and comments are also super appreciatied.


End file.
